


harbor lights

by ndnickerson



Category: Nancy Drew - Carolyn Keene
Genre: Alternate Universe, Beach Sex, Beaches, F/M, First Date, First Kiss, First Meetings, Honeymoon, Long-Distance Relationship, Love at First Sight, Married Couple, Married Sex, Post-World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 10:43:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ndnickerson/pseuds/ndnickerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She isn't the kind of girl who needs to be rescued.</p>
            </blockquote>





	harbor lights

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XIV. Prompts: isolated, uniform, rescue, kissing, earlobe, whisper, fingertip, noir, partners, first, picnic, alternate universe, bikini, muffle, lighthouse.

Ned's on prisoner transfer detail at the terminal, and out of uniform; Chief wants this low-key, and so Sadler has a sport jacket draped over his manacles. Blake's on the other side, flanking Sadler, as though the two men in fedoras and the man between, hatless, a sullen expression on his face and a purpled bruise on his cheek, looks natural. The fed waiting for them has a smirk on his face, and he flips the butt of his cigarette onto the pavement as he slips his arm through Sadler's, tipping his head at Ned and Blake.

Los Angeles is sunny at mid-day, but then it almost always seems to be. Another train arrives, and Ned stops on the pavement for a cigarette before he and Blake head back to the station house. A part of him wants Sadler to try to make a break for it just so Ned can assist in the takedown and maybe get a commendation from the chief. The wiretap and surveillance detail he's been working nights and weekends for the past two weeks has been good, but boring, and Ned is growing impatient for more experience, more in his jacket that will recommend him for a detective's shield.

For the six months he patrolled near the terminal, Ned learned the pavement, the rhythms, the cadence of it all, and it's familiar even if it's in no way soothing. The surge of passengers comes through and Ned sees Sadler struggle on the fed's arm; immediately he reaches down and touches his holster, but the fed jerks his arm and tips his head to utter something, and Sadler calms down.

And even in the bright sunshine, the usual scum lingers in the cracks and corners, waiting for the fresh prey. Ned can tell them by their cheap shoes and flashy suits, the sweat-stained collars of their ill-fitting shirts. The others, the men he has been following and listening to for the past two weeks, are above all this, and they depend on these small men, with their pencil mustaches and ingratiating smiles, to do their dirty work.

"Let's get back. I got to clock out on time tonight; got a girl coming over."

Ned glances down at his cigarette, flicks a bit of ash from the tip. Sadler and the fed have vanished. "Okay," he agrees, compulsively reaching into his pocket for the lighter his grandfather gave him, as a congratulatory gift for graduating the academy.

And then he sees her.

Ned only served six months at the end of the war, and that was only because he could finally pass and lie about his age to get there, and what stuck with him, after all this time, after the blood and terror and exhilaration, the nightmares and the flashbacks that he sometimes just can't shake—was the relief of coming home again. The peace, the speechless joy of reunions on their return, white-knuckle embraces, gleaming eyes. When Ned had returned, his parents had been there to greet him—but he had seen the older men around him, sweeping their wives backward for theatrical kisses, greeting toddlers for the first time.

Being at the terminal just brings that longing back, and it's been too long since he's had a girl friend. Since his return, it's been easier to focus on his work than the pretty, innocent girls who flock to the city searching for fame and fortune—and their counterparts, the knowing women whose optimism and zeal have been sapped by this life, who know the world for what it is, and no longer see what it could be.

His life separated, too, into the boy he was before he left, and the man he was on his return, but that desire still remains. The girls he's taken on dates have never managed to hold his attention for too long, and they always begrudge the time he spends at his job. They don't seem to understand that he wants to build a career along with a home and a life, that the badge isn't just something he takes off at the end of the day with his gun. He's beginning to think none of them ever will, that he'll just have to be content to divide his life again, into what he wants and what he'll never find. Any woman who wants his heart seems to feel he can't serve both masters.

But he's lonely, and that loneliness and desire creep up, solidifying in his chest when he sees her.

She's pretty, her blonde hair in perfect waves, framing an innocent face under the brim of her small hat. She has sparkling, intelligent blue eyes and a perfect cupid's bow of a mouth, and both her white-gloved hands are clinging to the handle of a large suitcase. The hem of her dress, navy with white polka dots, swirls becomingly around her slender, well-shaped legs, and she perches ably on a pair of smart, low heels.

She can't be a day over seventeen, and she's exactly the kind of girl the scum around the station wait to spot. Beautiful, young, and naive, traveling alone.

"I'll see you back at the precinct," Ned comments, his gaze locked on the girl, and Blake follows Ned's gaze, snorting and tossing off some smart reply before he takes off.

Surely someone will come to meet her. Surely she isn't really here alone, a sheep among the countless wolves of Los Angeles.

Ned's glad for his nondescript suit and tie as he keeps his sights on her, watching to make sure she's safely united with an aunt, maybe a boy friend; instead, she reaches into her small handbag and pulls out a scrap of paper, squinting at it in the bright sunlight until a tall man with a bland, smug face detaches himself from a shadow and walks over to her, rolling a toothpick back and forth between his lips.

"Oh, sir, could you help me? I'm looking for 2107 Monroe..."

"Oh, that... it's complicated, sweetheart. You know the area? Looking to meet up with someone?"

The girl shakes her head, holding her hat onto her golden hair as she gazes up at him, her expression guileless. "Just trying to find a friend of mine. Maybe you could direct me?"

"I'd feel terrible if something happened to you, doll. Let me escort you there myself."

Before she slides into the cab the man flags down, she casts a glance back over her shoulder, like she's looking for someone—and when her gaze meets Ned's, he knows his cover's blown.

And that he has no choice but to follow her.

She gives a little nod as two girls rush past Ned, their arms linked, one tall and slender with short brunette hair, the other petite and curvy with a head of pale golden curls. They slip into the next cab as Ned flags down his own.

Within a few blocks Ned knows where they're going, and he urges the driver to get a move on. He's seen these kinds of cases before and it only takes a moment, the prick of a needle or the offer of a spiked drink, and then...

The first cab is just pulling away from the curb when Ned's stops there, and he sees the tall brunette standing there, the blonde hurrying down the block. "She's inside, isn't she? The blonde?"

The brunette nods. "Are you—"

Ned reaches into his pocket and discreetly flashes his badge. "Stay out here, miss," he tells her, and while she nods, the expression in her dark eyes isn't fainting or fearful. She looks anxious, determined.

Ned puts the question of that aside as he approaches the flophouse.

Finding the blonde is as simple as following the sound of a scuffle. He hears a cry of pain behind a hallway door and, galvanized, manages to break it down in two tries.

And that sweet, innocent girl with the bright blue eyes has a pistol trained on two men, the one who picked her up at the terminal and another in shirtsleeves, a cigarette dangling from his slick lips. "Where is Marnie Jacobs?" she asks, her pleasant voice firm.

And, for the first time in what feels like a very long time, Ned's in love.

\--

It's a starter's pistol, which increases Ned's estimation of her fourfold, but she has it put away by the time the police her friend has called show up. Ned has the smug-faced man in cuffs and the other bound with a curtain pull, and the patrolmen haul them both in, making sure the blonde is all right.

When they're alone again, standing in the shambles of the room, the air heavy with cigarette smoke and cheap liquor, the blonde pulls the hat off her hair and tosses her curls, a pout on her pretty face. "So that's one dead end," she sighs.

"And here I was thinking I could gallop in here like Prince Charming and rescue you," Ned sighs. "But it seems that you had things under control."

She glances over at him and gives him a half-smile as they hear footsteps in the hallway. The petite blonde is breathless, a hand pressed to her bosom, while the brunette still looks like she's spoiling for a fight, and disappointed when she doesn't find one.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Prince Charming," the taller blonde says, her blue eyes sparkling as she turns to the other girls. "Bess, George...?"

"Any clues?" the brunette asks.

The taller girl shakes her head. "But maybe Charming here can help."

"Nickerson," Ned says, a touch of humor in his voice. "Officer Ned Nickerson, miss."

"Nancy Drew," she says, tipping her head with a small nod. "And my friends are Bess Marvin and George Fayne."

"Pleased to meet you," the other two girls chorus. The petite blonde, Bess, has blue eyes wide as saucers, and seems significantly more timid than the taller girl.

"George?"

"George," the brunette confirms. "Shall we search this place for clues?"

Bess shivers. "I think we should go get a snack first," she suggests, then glances over at Ned. "This place gives me the creeps."

Ned is sympathetic; he knows what happens to girls in the flophouse and countless others like it, and her feelings are well-founded. "Do you feel the men who were here know anything about... Marnie, was it?"

"I don't know," Nancy admits, shuffling through some papers beside the sink, which is cluttered with dirty bowls and glasses, and stinks of standing fetid water. "She came out here and vanished, and when that man approached me, I was hoping he had also approached her."

Ned puts his fedora back on. "I regret to tell you, Miss Drew, but that would be a staggering coincidence, given the number of—unsavory characters who frequent the terminal. I would be pleased to escort the three of you to the precinct house; we can check on the missing person's case and see if we have any leads. And I know of a well-equipped ice cream parlor on the way."

"Oh, let's," Bess pleads, already putting her small hat back on, and tilting it just-so. "Please."

Nancy seems on the point of refusing his offer when her blue eyes meet Ned's again, and his heart feels like it stops for a second, like he dies a little in the second before she murmurs, "I suppose that would be a good way to coordinate our efforts."

And Ned can't stop himself from giving her a small grin.

\--

For the next week, whenever he's not on surveillance or another assignment, Ned finds excuses to spend with Nancy, and her friends. He combs through reports at the station looking for possible sightings, tracks down last known addresses for her, and, when all else fails, he offers to take them to dinner, to see the sights. They are staying with an aunt and uncle of Bess and George's, and while the two girls are sometimes called away for family outings, on occasion Nancy isn't.

And Ned's glad. While Bess and George both seem like great girls, Nancy is the most fascinating girl he's ever met. He would almost call it recklessness, but as he gets to know her, he realizes what it is. She just doesn't give up. Not in the face of anything. Not threats, not danger, nothing. And she doesn't depend on anyone else to get her out of the tight situations she finds herself in, either; she uses her wits and she's brave and smart. That doesn't mean Ned doesn't want to find an opportunity to swoop in and save her, though.

She doesn't need a Prince Charming. And that makes her all the more irresistible.

It takes five days for Ned and Nancy to track down Marnie Jacobs. Nancy and George come along because they refuse to hear any suggestion to the contrary, while Bess is all too easy to persuade to serve as lookout. The flophouse near the docks is no place for Nancy, George or Bess, but then it's no place for the other girls inside, either.

And when they find her, Marnie's not okay, but Ned knows a few doctors sympathetic to this kind of case, and she soon will be, with any luck. They see her off as officers raid the rest of the house, and Nancy and George, even Bess, help guide the other girls out of the building, their steps disoriented and stumbling, gazes distant, frail fingers clinging to the insubstantial satin of their robes.

"Thank you."

Ned turns from the officer he's addressing and sees Nancy at his elbow, her blue eyes frank as they gaze into his. He's seen rookie officers brought to incoherence by the kind of scene inside, and while she does look just a little shaken, she's resilient, this girl.

And leaving in two days.

"You're welcome, miss."

Her lips quirk up a little. "So this is the end of our case."

He nods. "I'm pleased it ended well," he says. "Better than I had expected, honestly. And Miss Jacobs will be okay, thanks to you."

"And you," she says, glancing down, then back up again. "I know I have imposed on you rather too much, Officer Nickerson, but in the interests of avoiding what is sure to be an uninspired recital I've been asked to attend tomorrow... I believe you mentioned other diversions rather more entertaining than the ones I've had of late."

Ned's smile broadens into a grin. "I'm sure I can come up with something," he tells her, already mentally consulting his schedule. "Will I find you at home tomorrow at eleven?"

"You shall."

And that little glance she casts back at him, as she walks back to her friends, makes his stomach flip a little in anticipation.

\--

Nancy's from the Midwest, and so the first glimpse she catches of the ocean, from the front seat of his car, leaves a purely rapturous look on her face. The delight is a stark contrast to the guarded look she's worn while looking for Marnie.

He packed a picnic luncheon for them, of sandwiches wrapped in waxed paper and bottled soda, and as soon as they're on the sand she slips out of her shoes and digs her toes into it, tipping her face up into the sunlight, letting out a happy laugh that carries over the crash of the waves before them. It's early in the day, at the end of the season, and the beach is deserted around them. A lighthouse stands tall above the shore, and after their picnic, while they're still waiting for their food to settle so they can swim, she asks if he minds going on a tour with her.

He swallows his slight nervousness after they dust sand from their feet, then reaches for her hand, playfully swinging it with his. "I thought we were here to avoid boring things like recitals, and lighthouse tours."

"But lighthouses aren't boring," she tells him, her eyes sparkling. "They're fascinating. You don't want to?"

Ned gives her a little mock-sigh. "I guess I'll go, if you insist," he tells her. "As long as I'm rewarded properly for it later."

She raises an eyebrow, a pretty blush staining her fair cheeks. "I suppose it depends on the reward, sir," she says, and then she's tugging on his hand, laughing as she guides him toward the lighthouse.

He's actually never toured the lighthouse, but the guide responds to Nancy's obvious interest, telling the history of the structure, detailing how the keeper makes this section of the shore safe for ships. Nancy's enthusiasm leaves Ned more interested than he otherwise would be. Afterwards they wander back down to the rough blanket and picnic basket they left in the shadow of a dune, and Nancy holds her hand up to shade her eyes, casting her gaze out at the water.

"Ready for a swim, Charming?"

He swipes his fingertip over the tip of her nose when she turns back to look at him, noting the light dusting of freckles that has appeared on her cheeks since their arrival. "Whenever you are, miss."

She reaches for the belt of her lightweight green-and-white striped cotton dress, keeping her gaze on his face as she unbuttons it, and Ned swallows hard before he begins to unbutton his own shirt. He can't help but imagine her doing something similar back in his own apartment, then coming to him after, wrapping those slender legs around his waist as she—

She slips out of the dress and carefully puts it down on top of the picnic basket, and while she's not wearing one of the newer bikini swimsuits he's spent a lot of time admiring, she is wearing a two-piece, and the strip of skin between the top and bottoms is just tantalizing enough. Ned strips down to his trunks and she reaches for his hand, tugging him out to the water, and the delight on her face is infectious. Everything about her, he's discovered, he finds fascinating, and he can't spend enough time with her, could never be with her long enough.

She's a strong swimmer, but he warns her about the riptide anyway, and after they're tired of racing each other, she splashes him, her hair darkened by the water, and he chases her, a mock scowl on his face. He's been with girls at the beach who utterly refused to get in the water or risk their hair getting wet, who only wanted to languish by the seaside tanning, and he's delighted that she actually wants to swim. The beach hasn't lost its novelty to her, and when she cries for truce she turns onto her back and floats gently, contentment on her face.

Soon it's time for them to leave, and they trudge toward the shore, exhausted but happy. Their hands find each other and she glances over at him, sweeping a lock of wet hair off her face.

"I wish today would never end," she murmurs.

"It doesn't have to," he says, making his voice light. "Stay here. You can keep the lighthouse and solve mysteries, and go swimming whenever you like."

"It would get awfully lonely," she says, looking down, then up into his eyes.

"I could come visit," he offers gallantly. "And then, once you grew that pretty hair long enough, I could climb up and see you, Rapunzel."

She chuckles. "On a white charger?"

"If you insist."

The weather is so warm that soon they're dry enough to put their clothes back on, and she tosses her hair, blown to a loose, becoming curl by the sea breeze. He folds up the blanket again, and when he glances over at her, she's gazing out at the water, a small frown on her pretty face.

"Are you really leaving tomorrow?"

She nods, reaching for his hand, squeezing it gently. "I'm going to miss this," she says, her blue eyes searching his.

"Don't go," he says softly. "Just stay here."

She gives him a small smile. "I can't, Ned," she murmurs. "Will you... will you write me?"

He nods. He'll write her. And then one day she will send him a perfunctory invitation on cream cardstock, to see her married to some staunch businessman, and all he'll have left is his memory of today.

"As long as you grant me my reward," he says, and takes a step closer to her.

"And what's that," she whispers, tipping her face up.

Her lips taste like the sea when he claims his kiss, and a heartbeat later he feels her fingertips at his collar, clinging to the fabric of his shirt. He meant to leave it sweet, but his tongue slips past her lips and she makes a soft sound, but she doesn't pull away.

Her fingers are still twisted in his shirt when he releases her, and he finds that his hand is buried in her hair, his other arm around her waist, and he practically has her crushed against him. They're both panting a little when she slowly opens her eyes again, her pupils blown wide, and Ned feels such an intense desire for her that he can't speak for a moment.

"Tell me this isn't the last time I'll ever see you," he says, trying to keep his voice even.

She releases his collar and lets her palm drift down his chest as it falls back to her side. "It won't be."

\--

He knows she believes what she's saying, that she fully believes they will see each other again, but he can't bring himself to believe it. He looks forward to her weekly letters with a breathless impatience, responding to her with the same frequency, restraining himself from ending each with an impassioned request for another visit. The first time she calls him, Ned can hardly believe it, and when he gets the bill at the end of the month, after several more calls, he doesn't even care.

She comes out to California again three months later, with her father, and Ned ends up meeting them for dinner one night. She's investigating the rumor of some sunken treasure near Catalina, and Ned's relieved that her father has several friends and business meetings scheduled for their trip, because it means he and Nancy can scuba dive and spend unchaperoned time together, and with every passing second he knows he's falling harder for her.

The day before her departure, they go out to the lighthouse again. It's a mild day, but the water is cooler, too cool for a comfortable swim, so they sit on their blanket beside the dune and he tangles his fingers in his hair as he kisses her.

"You're growing out your hair, Rapunzel," he teases her, between kisses, feeling the warmth of her skin through her dress as he cups her hip. "Reconsidering my offer?"

"Maybe," she murmurs, and then she cups his cheek, and when he opens his eyes again he's on the blanket, on his side facing her, and her blue eyes are curious, unafraid, as she gazes back at him.

She's such a contradiction, this girl. Her manners are impeccable, but when he fuses his mouth to hers, she responds eagerly, enthusiastically, her tongue tangling with his. She doesn't always know exactly what they're doing, but she learns quickly, and he doesn't have to ask. He can tell that in many ways, he's her first.

"Tell me this isn't the last time," he says softly.

"It won't be," she murmurs, just before he kisses her again.

\--

She's eighteen the first time he slips his hand under her skirt.

She came out to California again with her two friends, then again with another pair of friends, Helen and Helen's new husband. This time she's out in California on her own and when he suggested that they go back to his apartment for a little while, she paused for just a beat before she agreed, and she knows what he's asking, even if she doesn't quite.

He's limited all his explorations to the lightest touches, the briefest caresses, afraid of scaring her off, but when he brushes the backs of his fingers over the curve of her breast, deliberately, she releases a soft moan, shivering against his touch. He rubs his thumb over her again and he can feel her nipple, hard through her dress and brassiere.

When she called him to tell him she was coming out to California by herself this time, that she wanted to see him, their conversation had ended in the worst, the best way it ever could.

"I love you."

"And I love you," he had replied, closing his eyes.

She lives thousands of miles away. She's independent and smart and her father will make sure she lands in some advantageous marriage, not tied to a cop who dreams of a detective badge, in one of the most dangerous cities in America. He'll never have her.

But he has her heart, and she will always have his.

He pulls her from her seat on his couch onto his lap, still caressing her breast as her lips find his, and when he touches the first button of her dress, she doesn't pull away. He can feel a blush radiating from her cheeks, and when he runs his hand up her leg, over the silk of her stocking to the bare skin above, to the warm satin of her panties, she gasps, reaching for his hand, lowering her gaze as she pushes his hand away.

"Sorry," he whispers.

She nods, and her lips, flushed from their kiss, are parted. "Not yet," she whispers, then gives him a small smile. "I love you too but not yet."

He nips gently at her, his lips brushing her earlobe, her neck, and she shivers as he unfastens the next button of her dress, tracing the bare skin beneath. "Then when," some perverse impulse makes him whisper.

"When you find a way into the tower and free me, Prince Charming," she whispers, tipping his chin up so she can kiss him again.

Her words linger in his mind for the rest of the night, and when she finally protests that she has to go back to her hotel, when she's buttoning up the front of her dress and finding her coat, Ned puts on his own so he can escort her back. While he intensely dislikes the idea of her staying in a hotel alone, even if it is a nice establishment with good security, he knows she would be shocked if he offered his apartment, and that it would be that much harder to pull back at the end of the night.

At least she solved the case that brought her here a few days earlier. All the time he isn't at work, they've spent together.

He walks her inside, flashing his badge at the desk clerk to head off any questions. Once they reach the door of her room she tips her head up and he slips his arms around her, holding her tight to him as he gives her one last lingering kiss.

"Tell me how to free you, Rapunzel," he whispers, his voice low and husky, when he pulls back.

And she looks up at him, those sweet blue eyes hazed with desire, and runs her fingers through his hair. "With a ring," she whispers. "A ring and a promise, Prince Charming."

He swallows. While he's never felt this way about anyone else, he's also never let himself believe that what she's saying is possible, either. "And you would accept that," he says, searching her eyes. "You would accept me."

She nods, blushing a little. "As long as you'd accept me," she says softly. "As long as you'd let me be who I am, Ned. If you want the princess who will wait for you in the tower, I'm not your girl." She smiles. "I'd much rather have my own white charger."

\--

It's the height of summer, and even at midnight, the sea breeze is little relief from the heat. The lighthouse is at their left, the beam playing over the rippling waves, the darkness around them made all the deeper in comparison. A party down the beach broke up half an hour earlier, and they are alone. Ned would be content to wait here until first light, as long as he's with her.

She wore white and Ned wore his dress uniform, and with every step she had taken toward him, down that impossibly long aisle, Ned had been convinced that he was dreaming, that she was an impossible illusion, that she would vanish any second. He's been told that he was very confident and serious during the ceremony, but he can't remember any of it, not really, just how loud his heart was beating and the tenderness and love in her eyes.

And then, later, in their dim hotel room, he had slipped the strap of her lace and satin slip down her creamy shoulder and kissed her, kissed and kissed her, bared her to him and lavished kisses on her sensitive breasts, his fingertips tracing and caressing that most feminine part of her, until she had parted her legs for him, trembling for his touch.

His wife. His beautiful wife.

It is the last night of their honeymoon; in the morning he's returning to the precinct house, to a world so different from the one they have shared over the past week. They have lingered in bed, learning each other, learning how each kiss and caress can inflame the other. And she learns quickly, this beautiful woman who now shares his bed, his rings around her finger.

She leans against his shoulder, their fingers intertwined. He's made her promise him one thing, one thing before he knelt on one knee before her and asked for her hand, for her heart, forever. He made her promise that whenever she could, she would let him be her partner on her investigations, her mysteries. He knows far better than she how dangerous his adopted city is, and while he believes in his heart of hearts that she is strong enough to make sure he never needs to rescue her, he still can't stop feeling protective of her. She is his wife now, after all.

And, she archly reminded him when he pointed that out to her in bed the night before, he is her _husband_ now, and she must insist that he return home to her every night, in one piece, because she will not settle for anything less than all of him.

He tips his head and kisses her, sweetly. "We should go soon," he murmurs, reluctant.

"Soon," she nods, cupping his cheek as she kisses him again.

And when he bears her to the blanket, the way he wanted to do every time they came to this beach, she doesn't protest, doesn't shove him away. He kisses her breathless as his caresses grow bolder, as she begins to shiver and arch up into his touch. He's delighted when she lets him open her dress and slip it off, when she sits up so he can gently pull her slip over her head, and then her breasts are bare, pale milky-blue, in the moonlight.

And oh, she's slick with desire and anticipation, parting her legs easily for him, digging her nails into his shoulders as he moves over her. They have made love by moonlight, candlelight, starlight and dawn, in every way they could imagine so far, but not yet outside, not in the open air.

"I love you," she gasps, when he first begins to move inside her.

"And I love you," he whispers, gazing down into her eyes, the slick heat of her tight around him.

And he works his pleasure in her, her knees bent, cradling him between her thighs as she arches and rocks, meeting his thrusts. He takes her hands in his, lacing his fingers between hers and pinning her hands above her head, against the sand.

"Oh, Nancy," he whispers, tipping his head down to kiss her, and she feels so good, like liquid warmth, as her tender flesh ripples around him. "So good, baby. Mmm, so good..."

And she muffles her cry against his skin, the angle of her hips shifting as she wraps her legs around his waist. He ducks in, sucking at the flesh under her ear as he makes his next thrust a little harder, and she cries out again, her heels pressing into his back to force him back down to her.

"Ned, oh yes, _Ned_ ," she sobs, bucking against him, her voice desperate. "Oh _yessss_..."

She's writhing against him, moving to grind against him at the deepest point of his every thrust, and Ned's panting for breath, gritting his teeth to keep from giving in too early. Then she parts her lips, tipping her head back, gasping out a silent scream, and he can just feel it as he plunges into her again, the clench of her sex around his.

"Oh God, _yes_ ," he groans, collapsing to her, cradled in her embrace as he presses his full length into her, and the ecstasy of his release is indescribable. He releases her hands and she wraps her arms around him, her legs still locked around his waist, both of them panting desperately.

Finally, slowly, she lets her legs fall open, her breath coming out in a quiet moan. He moves off her and she remains sprawled there on the rough blanket, pale and naked in the moonlight, flushed and delighted from her release, and he smiles, knowing he's given her the same bliss that she has given him. They dress again, slowly, and after he shakes the sand from the blanket and folds it up, she puts her hand on his arm, and he glances down at her.

She reaches up and draws his face down to hers for a kiss, and he gives in, the way he always has. He would go to the end of the earth for her, but she would do the same for him; Carson Drew had his doubts, when Ned asked permission to discuss marriage with his daughter, and made it quite clear that Nancy's happiness was the sole reason he was granting Ned's request. He had also made quite clear what would happen to Ned if a hair on his daughter's head was harmed, and Ned could have done anything at all to prevent it.

But Carson didn't need to warn him. Ned has no intention of letting anything happen to her, not as long as he's around to stop it.

"Tell me this isn't the last time," she whispers after their kiss, and when he pulls back, her lips are curved up in an almost impish smile.

"It won't be," he vows, leaning down to give her one last kiss before he takes her home.


End file.
